


Drive Her

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: It starts when Zeke tries to parallel park while wearing an eyepatch.





	Drive Her

**Author's Note:**

> this literally started from a random thought of "man zeke would probably be the worst driver ever in a modern setting" and naturally led to moraghid
> 
> also sorry for the pun title
> 
> SOME BINCH drew art of brighid!! check it out she's fuckin gorgeous: https://twitter.com/AAsplats/status/1024479896133722112

It’s 8:12 on a sunny Tuesday morning when Zeke spots a narrow bit of space against the sidewalk and decides that trying to parallel park there is the most brilliant idea in the world. Not because he’s late for work or anything, but because it looks like a _challenge_ , and Ozychlyrus Brouev Tantal is no man to back down from a challenge.

Unfortunately, on this particular day, he chose to don his eyepatch before heading out.

And so the lack of depth perception, combined with Zeke’s general clumsiness, inevitably leads to a slip of his foot and his car horrifically ramming into the parked vehicle in front of him with a loud screech and _bang_.

On the sidewalk, a woman who had just been about to open the front door of that car turns and stares directly at him.

At least, he thinks she’s staring. It’s hard to tell with those dark sunglasses and with the smoke rising from the crumpled hood in front of him. But she definitely seems mad, so.

Oops.

 

* * *

 

“And she wants _me_ to pay for all the damages! The nerve!” Zeke is loudly saying, complete with animated hand gestures. Mòrag sips at her tea and waits for his hands to settle down before responding. Other patrons in the café are beginning to stare, but she’s too used to the attention Zeke draws with his mere presence to feel conscious about it.

“But it was your fault.”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Details!” And Zeke is back to waving his hands in the air. He settles down and folds his arms with a huff, staring down at his own drink with the most childish pout to ever grace the visage of a fully-grown man.

Mòrag sometimes has to wonder how she even became friends with him.

“Don’t you have insurance?”

“Oh, sure. They’ll pay for everything.”

“So what exactly is the problem?”

“It was just a _dent!_ But with the way she chewed me out, you would’ve thought I ran over her foot! Who gets that angry over a little dent?!”

Plenty of people would be upset if some weirdo wearing an eyepatch bumped into their car and it was very likely much more than just a supposed dent, Mòrag thinks to herself, but she merely takes another sip at her tea as Zeke continues to rant.

 

* * *

 

Zeke, of course, is wholly unconcerned with the new indentation on his car. A _battle scar_ , he calls it, to be added with all the other scratches and scuffs and dings his poor car has accumulated over its lifetime of being driven by him. Life proceeds as normal as the insurance claims are being sorted out, and Mòrag is determined to keep her hands out of the matter. Let Pandoria intervene, if need be. She’s more suited to handle Zeke and all his eccentricities than Mòrag is.

Life could indeed proceed as normal with the incident to be left in the dust behind them, but then realizations sink in and Zeke’s outrage returns.

“ _My premiuuum!!_ ” he wails, and Mòrag covers her ears.

Where’s Pandoria when she needs her?

“I never thought such monetary matters would ever disturb you this much.”

“It’s not about the money! It’s the principle of the thing, Mòrag! The principle!”

“What principle?”

“You know what I’m talking about!”

She doesn’t, but she decides not to ask any more questions.

 

* * *

 

Coincidences are a funny thing in life. Zeke likes to call it destiny, but Mòrag knows to see those things as what they are. Pure coincidence.

But is it coincidence when a woman wearing sunglasses and a bulky pair of headphones walks into the café where Zeke and Mòrag typically meet up during their lunch breaks? Is it coincidence when Zeke happens to look up at the right time and recognize her? Is it coincidence when he stands up and dramatically points?

No, the last one isn’t. It’s just Zeke being Zeke.

“It’s _her!_ ”

Mòrag puts a hand to her forehead. “Sit down, Zeke.”

The woman is either ignoring them, or she simply hadn’t heard his outburst thanks to her headphones. She’s waiting in line with her back turned to them, and for a moment Mòrag has to marvel at how long and shiny and wavy her hair looks from behind.

But wait. That’s not even relevant. She looks back down at her steaming cup of tea. Zeke is still standing up.

“What was her name… Bridget? Budget?”

“Budget isn’t even a name, Zeke.”

“Whatever! I’m probably close!”

Finally, thank whatever celestial forces reside far above in the skies, Zeke sits back down. But it’s far too late. All these rolling coincidences continue to snowball into one another and when the woman, who probably isn’t named Budget, gets her drink from the counter and turns around she _sees_ them.

Or, she probably sees them. She hasn’t taken off her sunglasses despite being indoors.

Zeke notices and does that… sort of motion with his fingers, pointing to his eyes then pointing to her. Threateningly. Warningly. Intimidatingly.

But it’s not so intimidating when he’s wearing the stupid eyepatch. It’s probably the stupid eyepatch that actually makes him recognizable, too, because she’s walking over now, heels clacking against the hard floor.

Mòrag keeps her eyes focused on her tea. No need to get involved.

“It’s you,” she says, coming to a stop at their table.

“Damn right it’s me!”

There’s silence. _Did both of them forget each other’s names?_

“Budget…?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your name, your name!” Zeke impatiently says.

“It’s _Brighid._ ”

“Hah! I was close! See, Mòrag?”

Oh, no. Please don’t drag her into this. But, it would be unbecoming of her to pretend to be oblivious to this exchange any longer now that she’s been directly addressed, so she lifts her head and flashes a tepid smile. Brighid has her headphones around her neck now, but she still hasn’t removed her sunglasses. Hm.

“Apologies, for my friend’s crude manners.”

“Mòrag, was it?” Brighid extends a hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

She accepts the handshake. Her palm is smooth, and warm, and by the time Mòrag realizes she’s been holding onto her hand for exactly two seconds too long it’s too late. Zeke squints at both of them for a very long moment of silence, the most quiet he’s been in who knows how long, then he abruptly stands up yet again. This time without any sort of outburst.

“… Oh, look at the time, it looks like my break is about to end so I’d better head back to work. Catch you later, Mòrag! And I’ll see _you_ in court, Budget.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“He jests.”

Zeke is already out the door with his sandwich falling apart in his grasp. It’s just the two of them now, Mòrag awkwardly holding onto her half-empty, half-full cup of tea and Brighid still standing there with her own drink as well, staring… probably staring, from behind her sunglasses. She’s facing her, so Mòrag assumes she’s staring.

“So,” Mòrag starts. “Do you come here often?”

The slightest of smirks passes across Brighid’s face. “Do _you?_ ”

“Yes, actually. Zeke and I often meet here for lunch when our breaks coincide.”

“You seem reasonable and well-spoken. I wouldn’t have imagined someone like that would be associated with someone like you.”

“Ah.” Mòrag looks down, feeling oddly flattered. She supposes she should feel indignant on Zeke’s behalf, since he is her friend, but he _did_ rear-end Brighid’s car because he decided to drive while wearing an eyepatch.

So Brighid has a point, really.

“I’m sorry if I came off as a little curt earlier,” Brighid says, and she sits down in the unoccupied seat without even asking. Not that she would’ve needed to ask. “My car is still in the shop, so I’ve had to take public transportation to get to work.”

“No need to say more. I understand,” Mòrag gravely nods.

Brighid nods her thanks and sips her drink. They sit there in silence for a short while, though it feels like a longer while, Mòrag nervously trying to get a glimpse behind Brighid’s sunglasses and Brighid serenely drinking. She did mean to stay out of this, but now Brighid is sitting right here across from her and she seems perfectly nice from the few words they’ve exchanged so far, so…

“Would you like me to be your driver? Until your car is fully repaired, of course,” Mòrag blurts out.

One eyebrow raises above her sunglasses. “It’s a rather long commute. I live at the edge of the city.”

“I don’t mind.”

“How… generous of you to offer.”

Mòrag holds up her hands. “I expect absolutely nothing in return. Consider it a random act of charity.”

The corners of Brighid’s lips twitch. “I’m not really one to accept charity from strangers…”

“I won’t be a stranger. I’ll be your driver.”

“My, that’s straightforward.”

“—Only if you’re up to it, of course.”

Brighid puts down her cup and leans forward, interlocking her fingers beneath her chin. She peers at Mòrag over the top of her sunglasses, and now Mòrag can properly see her eyes for the first time. They’re… pretty.

“You don’t drive with an eyepatch, do you?”

Mòrag almost sputters. Almost. “Certainly not!”

She laughs. The sound is just as pretty. “Alright, then. Thank you, Mòrag. I’ll give you my address; you’ll need to pick me up at 6 am tomorrow.”

“I shall arrive on the dot.”

 

* * *

 

“So you just got yourself a second job as a _chauffeur?”_

“She’s out of her damn mind!”

“Haha! That’s priceless!”

Zeke and Pandoria are comfortably sprawled out on her sofa, and Mòrag would tell them to get their feet off her coffee table but it’d be a lost cause. Pandoria laughs again and slaps Zeke’s thigh.

“Hey, how about that! Looks like that car accident just landed Mòrag a date.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Mòrag crossly says. “I’m only to be driving her until her car has been repaired. Two days at the most. Three, if the shop is unable to receive the parts earlier.”

Zeke throws his hands up in the air. “It was just a damn dent!”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know it was _just a dent_ ,” Pandoria frames the words with air quotes. “But I’m betting her car was some foreign sports car with a vanity plate, right? Those kinds of people would wring you dry over _just a dent._ ”

“Brighid was perfectly civil when we spoke,” Mòrag says.

“Sure, but that’s probably just because you’re also rich. And you offered to be her driver. For free. Which kind of reeks of desperation now, come to think of it.”

“Now now, Pandy!” Zeke laughs in an uproar. “It’s just a schoolgirl crush! Nothing to get excited over! But!”

“This is Mòrag we’re talking about!”

“Ex-act-ly!”

“Oooh, love at first sight, eh?!”

Mòrag crosses the room to sharply whack at their legs with a rolled up magazine. “Please get your feet off my coffee table.”

 

* * *

 

The drive in the following morning is somewhat uneventful. Brighid wears her sunglasses the entire way, despite the sun being mostly hidden by overcasting clouds, but she seems to be more or less in a good mood, enough that she’s open to conversation over the soft lull of classical music Mòrag plays in the car.

Brighid talks about her work as a jeweler, and the art gallery she owns, and the pet fish that’s grown at least three times in size since she had first purchased it.

Mòrag talks about the museums around the city she likes, and her younger brother who’s still in high school, and how she’s trying to learn how to play the piano by herself.

Then they talk about the way the sun begins to reach through the clouds to properly start the day.

Then they talk about the horrid traffic and the flaws of the city's infrastructure. 

Then they talk about the restaurants they ought to visit, although reservations are nigh impossible to secure at places like those.

Then they talk about where to meet up for dinner in the evening, even if it won’t be at one of those high-end restaurants where the food comes in portions too small to be considered proper meals.

At last they get into the heart of the city and Mòrag drops Brighid off, and she drives away with elation swelling in her chest. In the rearview mirror, she sees Brighid smiling and waving to her before she heads inside.

 

* * *

 

Mòrag would never consider herself to be one for frivolities. Through much of her childhood she’d been completely dedicated to her education, and not just because that’s what her late parents would have wanted, but because it’s just who she is.

Friendships were easy to start, but difficult to maintain. Zeke had been one of the few to stick with her overly-serious standoffishness, but he had always been considerate— _too_ considerate, perhaps, to ever really pull Mòrag out of her shell all the way.

Nice, and easy to get along with, but above it all. That’s how others would have described her. She’s got a comfortable situation in life now with her own place and a secure job and money put aside for Niall’s college education, but it never really occurred to her that her social life had been rather lacking until she met Brighid. Even after Brighid gets her car back, they continue to regularly spend time with each other.

So she was never just a _driver_ to her, surely.

But Mòrag wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions so suddenly.

 

* * *

 

It’s been two months since the accident. Incident. Whatever. Zeke’s premonitions were correct as far as his premium was concerned, but it’s ultimately brushed off and he stops referring to Brighid as “Budget”.

And Mòrag has still been giving Brighid rides in her car every other day or so.

“When’re you gonna grow a pair and ask her out?” Zeke asks, kicking his feet up on the coffee table as usual. Pandoria mimics him, and Mòrag grabs the nearest magazine and rolls it up in preparation.

“Ohh, don’t be crude. Let her figure it out on her own time!” Pandoria giggles.

Mòrag strides over and whacks at their ankles with the magazine.

 

* * *

 

They decide to try something different one evening and find someplace more casual for dinner, where there are no white tablecloths and the waiters don’t wear pressed suits. Brighid says she knows the sister of the owner, or something, so Mòrag readily agrees.

“It’s rather… homely,” Mòrag says, after a pause of struggling to find the right word and looking around. They were seated in a corner away from the rest of the patrons, by Brighid’s request.

“Isn’t it?” Brighid chuckles, taking off her sunglasses. “Don’t worry, I can vouch for the food.”

“Would you mind ordering for me, then?”

“You don’t even want to look over the menu?”

“I’m in the mood for spontaneity, tonight.”

“Well, then.”

They make eye contact. Mòrag’s throat is suddenly dry, and she wonders when they’ll be brought water. Brighid still doesn’t take her sunglasses off very often at all; this kind of unobstructed eye contact is rare, and Mòrag isn’t quite accustomed to it even after all this time.

“You _do_ know what I like,” Mòrag says, nearly fumbling over her words. What Zeke and Pandoria had been going on about still echoes in the back of her mind. It’s been two months, damn it all. So what if she hasn’t…

Brighid rests her elbows on the table, her smile widening. “I think I do.”

“… Is the look on my face that obvious?”

“I’ve noticed your poker faces have been gradually deteriorating in these past few weeks.” Brighid swiftly clarifies when Mòrag’s expression begins to fall. “It’s not a bad thing. Far from it.”

“I’ll admit I… tend to be stoic more often than not.”

“And I appreciate that side of you as well, Mòrag.”

A waitress finally comes over with two glasses of water. Mòrag gulps down about two thirds of hers while Brighid orders their food, feeling only slightly more at ease when the waitress leaves and the two of them are alone once more.

The worst part is, she can’t even remember ever being this nervous in her entire lifetime. And for something that’s supposed to be so _trivial…_ how can Brighid be so calm and levelheaded about everything?

“Mòrag? Are you feeling alright?”

“Y— Yes.” She clears her throat. Public speeches, debates, and formal lectures have never been able to rattle her nerves. Nor has the pressure of all the expectations placed upon her shoulders from her family status. She’s as unshakeable as mountains. Or so she had believed until now.

To think she probably has Zeke and his stupid eyepatch to thank for the opportunity to meet Brighid. Absolutely ridiculous. There’s no such thing as destiny, only coincidences.

Brighid is patiently waiting for her to speak now, the faintest air of amusement hanging around her. It isn’t exactly helping her nerves, but Mòrag is not one to balk and flee. She takes a deep breath.

“Brighid. I would like to date you. Officially. If you would have me.”

Silence.

Brighid squints.

“… What?”

Oh, no. Did she word that strangely? Probably. But it’s too late to take it back and all Mòrag can do is control her breathing.

“—If you would prefer to remain as friends, I—“

“Wait.” Brighid holds up a hand, and Mòrag shuts her mouth. “You mean we haven’t already been dating this entire time?”

Mòrag suddenly kind of wants to scream.

Maybe Brighid wants to scream, too.

“Pardon?”

Brighid is still squinting.

“You know… after the first time we had dinner together.”

“ _Ah._ ”

“You didn’t think it was odd when I kissed you on the cheek afterwards?”

“I thought…”

Brighid holds her face in her hands. She’s trembling with laughter, Mòrag realizes, and she can’t decide if that’s worse or not. Either Brighid is laughing _at_ her, or… well, laughing _with_ her doesn’t exactly seem like an option, considering her flustered indignation.

“But—!” Mòrag starts. She quickly gulps down the rest of her water. “… _What?_ ”

“I just thought… you wanted to take things slowly!” Brighid gasps with laughter. “That’s why the kisses never went beyond your cheek.”

“In Ardainian culture, it’s not uncommon for friends to greet each other in such a manner…”

“I may have been a little hasty about jumping to conclusions,” she says, catching her breath. “I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

“No— no, you’re not at fault here!” Shame, a feeling so unfamiliar and foreign to Mòrag, is beginning to creep up her neck and to her ears. “I was the one who should have stepped forward much earlier.”

Brighid reaches across the table, laying her hand flat at the center with her palm facing up. Mòrag places her own hand across hers, and something in her melts when their fingers interlock. Her hand is still as smooth and warm as it had been on the day they had met in that noisy café. She smiles at her, and Mòrag smiles back, and she figures they can talk more about clear communication after dinner.

 

* * *

 

They kiss beside Mòrag’s car later on for the first time, and Mòrag is terribly self-conscious about how she literally has no idea what to do with her mouth or hands but Brighid is patient and gentle with her affections. It’s… exhilarating, even if Mòrag isn’t quite sure what the proper etiquettes are as far as kissing goes.

Brighid seems more than happy to take the lead, at least.

Her head is spinning when the kiss is broken off. She fumbles for the passenger door behind her, but Brighid takes her wrist with a smile.

“How about _I_ drive for once? We can have coffee at my place.”

Mòrag readily nods and hands her the car keys, practically dizzy from the excitement and the taste of Brighid still fresh in her mouth. “Whatever you’d like.”

 

* * *

 

Zeke and Pandoria continue to drop by unannounced to put their feet up on the coffee table, but now Brighid is a constant presence to make things a bit more lively. If she still bears any sort of ill will towards Zeke for damaging her car, she doesn’t let on, but bygones are clearly meant to be bygones and everything’s been paid off.

Mòrag still drives her around more often than not, anyway.

It’s 7:58 on a Friday evening when those two barge in when Mòrag and Brighid are paying half-attention to a movie as if they were invited. They weren’t, but Mòrag doesn’t tell them to get lost either, so she tells them to sit on the floor and keep quiet. But they can’t keep quiet, of course, because that’s not how things usually go. All of Zeke’s teeth show in his grin when he sees them sitting very close together on the couch.

“I told you it’s lucky, didn’t I?!” Zeke says, tapping his eyepatch. “Hah! And you brushed it off as a load of hogwash!”

“Because it _is._ ” Mòrag flatly says. “If anything, it should be considered unlucky. Very, very unlucky. You do realize you’re putting yourself and others in danger when you drive while wearing that?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!”

“Don’t worry. He can’t find his car keys most of the time, so we usually end up taking the bus,” Pandoria loudly whispers to Mòrag.

“There’s an exhibit on Montecoran art opening at the museum this weekend,” Brighid speaks up as if she's completely unaware of Zeke and Pandorias' presence, staring down at her phone. “What do you think, Mòrag?”

“Intriguing.”

“Boring, you mean!” Zeke loudly declares. “But we’ll come along anyway! Right, Pandy?”

“Sure. Intruding on their romantic date and making a nuisance out of ourselves is what we’re already doing, so what difference does another day make?”

Oh, well. It shouldn’t be all that difficult to shake them off once they’re there. Brighid rests her head on Mòrag’s shoulder with a sigh. So much for a relaxing weekend alone together. But how bad could it be, really, with everything else that had happened and led them here?

“Fine. But I’m driving,” Mòrag says.


End file.
